Terminology Is Important
by Ash Light
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale go on a man-date. Of course, then Crowley has to explain what a man-date actually is... Nonsense oneshot.


Written for a friendship prompt on livejournal - Good Omens, Crowley and Aziraphale, man-date.

WARNING: excessive culture references. For those who don't know, Made in Chelsea and The Only Way Is Essex are pretty much the same shows as Jersey Shore, only with English accents. Downton Abbey is a period drama and the most popular thing on British television since the dawn of time. And if you don't know How I Met Your Mother you should be ashamed of yourselves.

-0-

"So, Cliff Richard – one of ours or one of yours?"

"Oh, one of yours old chap. Definitely one of yours. I can't see Up There claiming credit for someone who thinks that walking around with those shirts and that inane expression is reasonable behaviour."

Crowley nodded sagely.

2010, the best table at the Ritz. And once again Aziraphale the angel and Crowley the demon were sitting with a very large bottle of scotch between them, comparing notes.

"Pokemon?"

"Yours."

"The Wii?"

"Ours."

"How I Met Your Mother?"

"Ours."

"Even the Barney Stinson character?"

"Especially the Barney Stinson character."

"You'll take credit for Barney Stinson, but not for Cliff Richard?"

"What can I say? I believe Himself admires the character's taste in suits. And of course they were bang on about the Loch Ness Monster." Aziraphale took another hearty swig. "The Hills? Jersey Shore? Made in Chelsea?"

"All mine." The demon gave a wicked grin, leafing through a heavy script that suddenly appeared in his left hand. "As a matter of fact I have another one I was just about to pitch. What d'you think of this – '_The Only Way Is Essex_'?"

Even with half a bottle of very potent scotch inside him, Aziraphale managed to give him a particularly stern look.

"No, I'm sorry my dear boy, can't be done. I can't let you pitch another one of those infernal programmes to thousands of the masses every day. It's a disgrace. And besides, it's part of my internal code. Thwarting wiles. I see a wile, I thwart."

"I think Up There mean for you to be doing slightly more important work than rearranging the TV schedule. Thwarting more _infernal wiles_, as I see it."

"Believe me, _Made in Chelsea_is as infernal a wile as it gets."

The demon scowled. "Look angel, you give me _The Only Way Is Essex_ and I'll let you have another two seasons of _Downton Abbey_, deal?"

"Alright, alright, deal." Pause. "You think – you know, Up There and Down Below would be happy about this little…_powwow_we have going on?"

"No, no-no-no-no-no, course they would. And 's not a _powwow_. 'S a – "Crowley paused and tried to rack his brains for the latest modern jargon – quite a trick considering he'd spent much of the nineties napping after the Antichrist incident. "'S a _man-date_."

"A whosit?"

"A man-date. 'S when two blokes together and – " once again the internal harddrive went scurrying for more gobbledygook, "chill together._ Hang out_." And then, before the angel started blabbing on about hanging and wasn't that what you do to paintings and criminals, and capital punishment and whose idea had that been anyway, Crowley hastily coughed. "That is, spend time together."

For a moment Aziraphale nodded slowly, repeating the word under his breath. The demon visibly brightened. It wasn't often you managed to teach new words to an angel whose mind seemed permanently fixed in the middle of the eighteenth century –

"But we're not men."

Crowley's mental warning lights went off.

"Noo – "

"And _date_ – I was under the impression, old chap, that _dating_ was a euphemism for _courting_. Which, you know, involves all sorts of hassle, dressing up, getting flowers, physical threats from the lady in question's immediate male family – "

"_You've_been out courting?" Crowley's attention was suddenly piqued.

"A mere misunderstanding, I can assure you." Aziraphale had gone awfully stiff. "I went to pay my respects to Mary Shelley – give her some tips, that sort of thing – and her father quite got the wrong idea. Battered me about the head with a very large Bible. Embossed and everything."

"Wow."

"Indeed."

The angel and the demon sipped at their drinks in solemn silence.

"And anyway, _anyway_, a mandate is a whatchermacallit – court order. Very strict court order. This definitely isn't one of those."

"Yes, yes, yes yes, but the _point_is – "

"Can't see why we'd get a court order anyway, dear boy."

"You're not _listening_– "

"Flying over the speed limit? Excessive tempting of all mortal souls without a licence?"

"Aziraphale!"

The angel looked up. Crowley appeared to be sulking.

"Oh, alright, alright. So despite the fact that we're not men, and this isn't a date, and none of the known courts have charged us with a court order – " he drew in breath, not that he needed to, "this is a_ man-date_."

"There. Was that so hard?"

Sigh. "Probably not."

"There you go." Crowley beamed, and waved a hand to refill the emptying bottle of scotch. "Now then – I-Pods?"

"Yours."

"I-Pod Touches?"

"Ours."

"Door-to-door salesman?"

"…Oh, definitely yours, old chap."


End file.
